This will be my last blog entry in this space, in this home. After almost three years, I have decided to move on. For months I`ve been working on a new place to house my words, my paintings my dreams and everything in between. It is quite fitting that I move at this time, on the cusp of a new birth year, as I am not the same person I was even 8 weeks ago. Change is good. Change is healthy. Change is imperative. The last 8 weeks have been very difficult, there has been great heartache for several reasons. But, I believe there has been great purpose for this. More than ever, I believe in the need to speak your truth--even the unspeakables.
Unspoken truths are a muzzle on the soul with the whispers of your heart
Thank-you from my whole heart for being part of this journey with me. I hope you will join me in my new digs. I have SO much to share with you in the next couple of weeks, about art, about writing, about stories. There are many new beginnings on the horizon. I CANNOT WAIT to unveil my NEW PRO WEBSITE! So please accept this last post as your invitation to my new home. I will be having an Open House on Thursday. Drop by whenever you can and rest assured, I will continue to speak my truth, by sharing my words, my paintings and my true stories.
Those who make things and paint and create with their hands know how vital art is to their heart—their soul. It has been my lifeline (again), through these past few weeks. Whether it was in the form of a handwritten note from a loving friend, a book of short stories, or a poem I carried in my pocket. Just carrying art supplies in my bag—knowing they were there within my reach was comforting to me.My pens and my journal, acted as my confidants while sitting by Steve's hospital bed in the darkor alone in the hotel after a long hard day.
I am grateful for these tools that comforted me in my time of need. Since returning home, I have had little time and energy to devote to my work, but knowing it was just waiting for me to come back to has consoled me in ways I can't even articulate at this moment.
Grief is a living emotion and time does not heal all.
Art can help work through the grief the way time cannot.
I am so grateful for my creative well. It is a lifeline. It is a gift.
How are you all doing? I'm still trying to find my footing over here. It's amazing what happens to your body after a stressful event. It speaks, through aches and pains and tired eyes and tired bones. It was a long week last week. Steve was home but he was still in a lot of pain from the surgery and our sleep was limited. He also ended up at the Emergency Thursday night due to his rising temperature. A fever after a surgery is a scary thing— it means it could be an infection and an infection after spinal surgery could lead to meningitis...SO, my friends, it has been exhausting. I feel like I have been hit by a half-ton—totally depleted. BUT, I believe we are FINALLY out of the woods and into the clear. Steve's headaches have also subsided, but he occasionally wears sunglasses while eating breakfast which is a little odd—still.
On another note, I've been trying to get back into a routine again. I've been spending a little time in the studio and will have some new original works to add later this week. It's been slow-going, but I can see a shift in my work again. Maybe you will notice it too. (There is no hiding when you paint faces.)
I have been extremely blessed by friends who have been dropping off baked goods and home cooked meals consisting of soups, quiche, canole and everything else under the sun. This has meant the world to me and to my family. I am so grateful to these kind and loving souls, you know who you are...
That's it for today but I promise to share more of what I've been painting in the next post-coming soon. Thank-you again for the kind messages that have been rolling through and for all the sweet folks who have been checking in on us. I hope to feel like myself again soon. I'm bound to kick it in gear again, last night was the first night I actually slept through the night! Love from me to you. xoxo
Exactly a week ago today, I was sitting in a waiting room with about twenty other people, equally anxious and scared; all there because someone they loved was in surgery. Sitting in that room for four hours with Steve's wheelchair by my side, was the longest four hours of my life. I was unable to focus on anything except the huge lump in my throat and the short breaths that heaved from my chest.
We were four hours away from home, in the big city. The days were long and the nights even longer. Steve has said that this week was the most difficult week of his life—worse than breaking his back. He said he's been dreaming about the army days—vivid dreams, full of color and texture and sounds. It's brought us both back to that time, that place that will probably always haunt us.
Steve came home yesterday. Back home. I feel like I can breathe again, like the worse is over and I can finally let go. My body is telling me to slow down; my jaw is sore from clenching my teeth, my muscles tight from worry, and my eyes puffy from sleepless nights.
We piled into bed last night, all with our pajamas and watched Penguins of Madagascar on TV. In that moment, I felt complete bliss, so much happiness, I could have burst because we survived. Because we were together again. Because I know how lucky we are.
I know that not every family in that waiting room has made it home—many are still there, filled with worry and sadness. I know many of them will be there for a long time because I was sitting there when the surgeon came in and said it was not good news, it was lymphoma and the size of a pumpkin—in his brain. I'm also thinking of the woman who died on Steve's floor the night of his surgery, 93 years old. I heard the nurse say that she was an organ donor but that her organs were not viable. I also heard her say there was no one to call. She was alone in this world.
So today, I am counting my blessings and then some. I am wholeheartedly expressing my gratitude to you for your loving-supportive words on this blog and the countless other messages we have received from friends who have reached out and told us we were not alone. I'm grateful for the surgeon who did what he said he would do and for the nurses who cared for Steve with respect and kindness.
He's sleeping. He's home. The healing continues, but I have again been changed by this experience, we both have. We have been to many painful and dark places this week, but I feel the rain has tapered off and I see the rainbow just over the horizon.
I want to start off by saying thank-you from the depths of
my heart for your kindness and your loving words of support on the blog, facebook,
email, text, phone... I’ve had great difficulty sharing the upcoming surgery with
friends and family even, because the last time I was in a hospital and waiting
for Steve to come out of surgery... our whole lives had just been
dismantled-our worlds had just been
devastated. I admit that I suffer from
some serious PTSD surrounding these events.
Many of you have been wondering why this surgery had to take
place. Steve has had a growing cyst building up in his spinal cord that has
been causing him extreme pain and started to impair functioning in his arms. He
has also been suffering from headaches and increased leg spasms. In short, the
surgeon said if he would not get this surgery, he would become quadriplegic.
was now five days ago. The surgery itself was successful. The surgeon
said the cyst was even bigger than anticipated so it was imperative
that take place when it did. Steve says that the pain he felt in his
upper arms has subsided already. However, he's been dealing with
debilitating pain in his head-like a five day migraine that won't quit.
He has trouble speaking, eating and is extremely sensitive to light,
having to keep his eyes covered. The doctor said this will
self-regulate. The spinal fluid continually being drained into a
receptacle is causing movement of the spinal fluid, distorting his
equilibrium which is causing him pain, but this should and will improve.
I pray it is sooner than later because it has been excruciating for
Going through this again, seven years later, reminds me just
how precious life is.It reminds me of
how much I love this man, how much we have been together and how much I long
for decades more by his side.It reminds
me to take nothing for granted, to kiss the ones
you love and share your heart-even when it feels broken and full of sadness,
even when you are so afraid you can barely utter the words. It reminds me just how strong I am, how strong
he is and how lucky we are to have each other to share this life.
I have read every single message that has been sent by various devices.
Forgive me for not responding right now. I am completely exhausted and
need to make sure Mama stays healthy right now. Thank-you.
Artist, writer, and truth spiller. Learning to take myself less seriously, live in the present and stand in my light. Trying everyday to embrace the good,the bad and the beautiful while learning to get out of my own way to live the life of my dreams.